


Let You Down

by traceylane



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Fluffy, M/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2405906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traceylane/pseuds/traceylane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-Prompt: Minewt in the Scorch with Newt's leg bothering him.-</p><p>Newt has his legs wrapped around Minho’s waist and tucked over his elbows; his arms hook loosely around Minho’s neck, covered from shoulder to fingertip with the dirty bed sheet that’s keeping the skin from melting off of his bones.</p><p>He can see beads of sweat rolling down Minho’s face, can hear him trying to quiet his strained breathing. <i>He offered</i>, Newt tells himself, but he feels guilty enough, anyway, to raise his sheet further over Minho’s head, casting his footsteps in shade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let You Down

“This is bloody ridiculous, I hope you know.”

The Scorch Trials, as Rat Man had called them, were aptly named. They’d all been walking for some time now, mile after dry, hot, endless mile. At least, all but one of them.

Because if Minho were anyone else—perhaps a person who could not easily carry another human being through the desert, or a person who was not a stubborn asshole, or a person to whom Newt could actually say ‘no’—Newt would have refused to let him carry him.

And if Newt were anybody else—perhaps a person with two legs that worked properly, or a person who was third-in-command instead of second, or a person who didn’t always refuse to ask for some goddamn help—Minho wouldn’t have offered in the first place.

“You’re lucky I didn’t just sweep you off your feet and carry you like the shuck-faced princess you are.”

“I’ll throttle you. I will.”

But Minho just laughs.

Newt has his legs wrapped around Minho’s waist and tucked over Minho’s elbows; his arms hook loosely around Minho’s neck, covered from shoulder to fingertip with the dirty bed sheet that’s keeping the skin from melting off of his bones.

He can see beads of sweat rolling down Minho’s face, can hear him trying to quiet his strained breathing.  _He offered_ , Newt tells himself, but he feels guilty enough, anyway, to raise his sheet further over Minho’s head, casting his footsteps in shade.

“Thanks,” Minho says.

Newt rests his chin on his shoulder.  “ ‘Welcome.”

The sun is beating down, angry and searing. The other boys are starting to drag their feet, but Minho doesn’t slow down.

Newt nudges at the back of Minho’s neck with his mouth, momentarily brushing his lips along the black ink of  _Group A, Subject A7_. He feels the shiver go up Minho’s spine, sees the blush creep up his face. His steps even falter a bit, and Newt grins against his skin.

“How long d’you think we have before we start running out of water?” Newt asks after a while.

Minho sighs.  “Enough to last us until it gets dark. We’ll feel like we’ve been eating the sand, but it’ll last.”

 “How much have you got left?”

Minho raises his makeshift pouch. The sun hits it at an angle and the water glows like electric light; it’s more than half full.

“A lot. Why, do you need some?”

“No, but I think  _you_  do—I haven’t seen you have a drop of that for an hour now.”

“Are you telling me what to do? Because you can read what it says, right  _here_ ,” he shifts Newt’s weight to one arm and uses the other to point at the words on the back of his neck.

“Drink some bloody water, Minho,” Newt says through clenched teeth.

And Minho laughs, but stops to open the pouch and swallow a mouthful before starting to walk again.

 “There. Happy?”

“Not in the least.”

Minho laughs again. Newt smiles and closes his eyes, his cheek against Minho’s shoulder blade.

After a while, Newt begins to drift, counting Minho’s rhythmic steps instead of sheep. He loses himself in Minho’s heartbeat, his inhales and exhales, and feels a foreign sense of contentment before falling asleep.

—

The sky is tinged purple when Newt blinks himself awake.  

“Hey.”

Minho doesn’t seem to hear.

 “How long have we been walking?”

“’Dunno. Few hours.”

His answer is clipped, and Newt realizes they’re going much slower than before.

“You all right?”

“What?”

“Are you—oh, for shuck’s sake—”

Newt slides off of him, his legs aching from the stretch, and twists him around so they’re facing each other.

Newt takes his face in his hands, and when he speaks Minho cringes like he’s sending nails through his skull.

“Minho? Minho!”

The other Gladers have stopped walking, instead trying to push themselves closer to see what was going on. Newt tries to keep them from crowding, but they all gasp when Minho drops to his knees. His pouch of water, still half-full, falls from his hands.

“Headache,” Minho says quietly, and blacks out.

—

It takes three minutes for Minho to come to again. It takes six people to keep Newt from pouring all of their water down his throat.

Frypan helps him take sips, but after a little while he collapses back to the ground, exhausted.

Thomas suggests they set up camp for the night.

—

“Minho.”

He wakes up with his head in Newt’s lap. He can hear the other boys, safe, but distant. The sun is gone, and the air is so wonderfully, wonderfully cool.  

It should be such a lovely moment, but Newt slaps him, open-handed, across the face. He hears from the other Gladers a loud “ _Ooh_ ”, a sound usually reserved for fist fights, before Frypan shushes them.

Minho sits up suddenly, holding his palm to his face to ease the sting. “What the—Jesus, Newt!”

“You bloody, stupid, shuck-faced idiot, I  _told_  you, I told you to drink your bloody water, what kind of idiot shuck-faced Runner doesn’t remember to drink his  _SHUCKING WATER_ —”

Minho catches Newt’s hand before he can hit him again. “Stop it! I forgot, that’s all! I forgot!”

“You  _forgot_!”

“Will you stop yelling at me? You’re not the one in charge, here,  _shank_!”

“Well I don’t see how  _you_  could be, seeing as you’re a bloody shucking idiot—”

“I didn’t want to wake you up!”

Newt lowers his voice and his hands, although Minho is still clinging to his wrist.

“What are you going on about?”

“I—I know you hardly sleep because you’re shucking crazy, and you seemed—calm. So I let you sleep, and that’s all that I was worrying about, so I forgot.”

Newt stares at him.

“I’m not a baby, Minho.”

“I know,” Minho says quietly, though he puffs up his chest and continues, “But I wanted to help. So I did. I want to help you.”

And Newt opens his mouth to say something, but he shakes his head instead.

“Oh, drop the act,” Newt says, and Minho flinches when he lightly touches the tip of Minho’s nose and smiles, his eyes softer now.

 “You think you can kill yourself trying to be my hero? That’s too bad, because you’re  _my_  priority. If you want to help me, help me help you. That means drinking your shucking water, that means taking breaks, that means letting me  _walk_. Got it?”

“I don’t need—”

“I don’t care.”

And Newt puts a hand on the back of Minho’s neck and pulls him into a kiss, gentle, quick. Then another, and another, and Minho nearly chokes when they hear a smattering of applause from the group. Someone whoops.

He buries his head in Newt’s shoulder. “Great. They think I’m shucking whipped , now.”

“Well, you are, aren’t you?” Newt jibes, kissing the top of Minho’s ear.

And Minho murmurs into Newt’s neck, “I can’t promise I’ll let you walk, though.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow ok thank you for reading?? I know their ~*~journey through the scorch~*~ was way more eventful but bear with me fellas
> 
> Feel free to send prompts [to my tumblr](http://amazerunners.tumblr.com/ask) or wherever uwu I will love you please do it I will try my hardest


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